


heart taking root

by memitims



Series: sandwich asshole au [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey and ian deal with the aftermath of the sandwich-murder-kissing incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart taking root

**Author's Note:**

> the people demanded it and so it happened. i wrote more sandwich asshole au. possibly more to come! stay tuned~

Mickey could deal with sharing. He could deal with splitting the last nutella sandwich with Ian everyday during lunch, which is what Ian suggested they do after Mickey almost killed him over it. Turns out, Ian was actually a pretty nice guy when he wasn’t ruining Mickey’s day. And also, he was a damn good kisser.

Because, oh yeah, they had kinda made out in the hallway. And Mickey had liked it, and Ian had invited him back to the Gallagher house (which had been fuckin’ overwhelming, to say the least, all those kids running around), and Mickey had gotten a sandwich and a hurried handjob in Ian’s room out of the whole thing, so he was feeling pretty good about that. And then it happened again, and again, and Mickey couldn’t stop it if he tried. Ian was a fuckin’ magnet and Mickey didn’t have a chance in hell. 

They didn’t really talk about it, but it just kinda happened. Thanks to his job, Mickey knew where all the janitor closets were, so he’d always drag Ian to one of them in the last few minutes of lunch. It was easier in the stifling darkness, Ian fucking him hard and fast and then soft and slow, and Mickey didn’t have to think about what his father would say, how fucking dead he was if anyone found out. He could just focus on Ian’s big hands and Ian’s bright hair and Ian’s soft mouth. 

Mickey figured Ian and him were a weird sort of friends. He tried to keep Ian at arm’s length, he really did, but it was difficult when the kid constantly smiled at him and made stupid jokes and held his face gently when he kissed Mickey, like Mickey was someone who deserved to be touched.

“You’re zoning out again.” Ian laughed at him, touching Mickey’s wrist briefly to get his attention. 

“Sorry,” Mickey said. “Long night.” His father had been yelling at Iggy all night, something about a drug deal gone bad, and Mickey hadn’t been able to sleep through it. He missed the silence, he missed just having him and Mandy in the house. It was the only time the place ever felt a little bit like home, just him and his little sister eating crappy food and playing video games on the tiny television.

Ian gave him that look, like he fuckin’ felt sorry for Mickey, and it made Mickey’s skin tingle because he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He didn’t want Ian’s pity, didn’t want to be anyone’s fucking charity case, but it was weird to have someone look at him like they actually cared, like they actually gave a fuck. And that was dangerous. Letting Ian care about him was dangerous. It was a loaded gun against his temple, and sooner or later, someone was gonna pull the trigger.

“My house is actually pretty quiet at night,” Ian said, hesitantly, like he was afraid Mickey was gonna punch him for merely thinking about it, and that made Mickey kinda sad. It made Mickey sad that he couldn’t ever show Ian how much he actually got under Mickey’s skin, how he probably would have punched anyone else for entertaining the idea of inviting Mickey over. But not Ian. “If you wanted to come and get a good night’s sleep. There’s room on the floor, or something.”

Mickey shrugged, because he wasn’t gonna just tell Ian how much he appreciated that. It wasn’t just the way Ian looked at him that scared Mickey, it was the things he said, the way he treated Mickey like a person. He wasn’t just like another Milkovich kid anymore, whose only purpose in life was to give beatdowns and clog up the jails. Ian made him feel like he could do anything.

“Finish your damn sandwich,” Mickey growled, “and I’ll blow you in the staff elevator.”

Ian grinned at him, his mouth full of peanut butter. 

\---

If Mickey had thought he was angry over Ian stealing his sandwiches, it was nothing compared to how much he disliked Ian’s new douchebag of a friend.

He worked with Ian and his name was Oliver, or something equally pretentious. He lived on the Northside and wore fucking sweater vests to work, and sat down with them, sometimes, flirting with Ian the whole time and ignoring Mickey’s glares of pure hatred. 

Mickey was all for Ian having friends, of course, but this guy clearly didn’t want to just be friends with Ian. He was everything Mickey was not. He was rich and clean and out, and he went to some stuck-up private high school and he had inside jokes with Ian about the bizarre people they worked with. Mickey fuckin’ hated it. Mickey cleaned floors and changed toilet paper and he was scared to be himself and he was so goddamn selfish, because Ian could do decidedly better than him, but Mickey wanted Ian to himself.

“You know that guy flirts with you nonstop, right?” Mickey asked once, during lunch, when they were finally, blessedly alone. He shoved a bite of sandwich into his mouth. 

Ian looked at him like he was crazy, because he was oblivious as hell. “What? What are you talking about?”

“He’s always touching you and smiling at you and shit.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, his eyes brushing over Mickey like he could see right through him, like Mickey’s emotions were behind a shattering glass wall, instead of one made of unyielding stone. Mickey had always been so careful, always been able to keep people out, but Ian was different. “Are you - are you jealous?”

“No,” Mickey said quickly, too quickly. “Fuck off.”

Ian’s eyes got soft and reached out across the table to circle his fingers around Mickey’s wrist. Mickey glared at Ian’s hand, but he didn’t budge. He found himself letting Ian do that more and more, just touch him, for no reason, because Ian was impervious to Mickey’s harsh words and his threats and his menacing looks, so Mickey had just stopped trying. He’d lost that battle, and it was probably the only loss he’d never regret. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Mickey. Oliver’s just a friend.”

(And Mickey realized, with a sinking feeling, that maybe he did have something to worry about after all, because he wasn’t supposed to get attached, wasn’t supposed to care about Ian, wasn’t supposed to care if he fucked other people, but it was too late now. Mickey was screwed.)

Turns out, Mickey could deal with sharing his peanut butter sandwiches, but he couldn’t deal with sharing Ian.


End file.
